


Centre

by deliriouslyshipping



Series: T'Cherik Drabbles [9]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Panther! T'Challa, jaguar! Erik, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriouslyshipping/pseuds/deliriouslyshipping
Summary: This was based off of an AU that someone sent to me :)





	Centre

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off of an AU that someone sent to me :)

Gold irises meets lime, matched evenly. One snarls, determined yet playful, and the other narrows his eyes, even. Their bodies clash but there is no winner in this battle. There never has been. The Panther wraps his mouth around his opponent’s neck, biting down enough to make a point without causing harm. The opponent growls low and bows his neck, submitting, but the panther is not the winner. 

The panther removes his teeth, rubbing against the neck he powered against. The jaguar rubs in return, emitting a sound that can only be defined as purring. Their tails swish and intertwine in each other, lovers in their most open form. 

The two animals lay together under the Wakandan sun, content. Well until they hear the beeping of both of their devices. The panther growls annoyed and rises, jaguar following suit. They race back to the palace, but neither of them win. Two equally placed opponents never willing to take the initiative to take over another. Love is their greatest animalistic instinct. 

-

T’Challa sits on his throne, expecting. To his right is Okoye, serious and prepared, and to his left, N’Jadaka. Typically, N’Jadaka would remain a homo sapien for the sake of not weirding out every person who enters the throne room, but this was consequential for all of them, so Erik plans to stay remains ready to rip out a throat, if needed. 

N’Jadaka is seated, tail wrapped diligently around his man’s feet in the only amount of affection that he can muster whilst staying somewhat professional-”royalty-like.” T’Challa face remains neutral when the door opens and feet enter the room. 

“T’Challa! Hello, my old friend, how is the family?” He greets and the Dora push him forward. The two warriors spare him one look before exiting. The male returns his attention to the throne. 

“I see Erik is enjoying his time in Wakanda. How are you, man? Last time I saw you, you had less… hair. Oh, and you was about to send airships out in the world” N’Jadaka growls, tensing. T’Challa, on instinct, runs his fingers on his jaw, calming his lover without saying a thing. The jaguar relaxes everything but his glare on the man. 

“I see you haven’t changed much either, W’Kalu,” and W’Kalu laughs. Looking in the future, T’Challa should have expected this from the man. The traitor has been open about his intentions of this visit since T’Challa reclaimed the throne and announced his opening of Wakanda. 

“Care to explain yourself before you present yourself to council, or would you prefer to do this to all of them?” W’Kalu shrugs in his unbreakable bonds. 

“Wakanda is privileged, that is true, but this world is survival of the fittest. I simply wish to give them a harsh lesson of that, maybe even you. I am sure N’Jadaka would’ve agreed with me at one point, wouldn’t you Erik Stevens?” N’Jadaka’s tail whips harshly, assuredly angered. A snarl escapes his mouth and T’Challa tenses in the way W’Kalu stares at him. It wasn’t in just a teasing manner; he could read fascination, admiration, and even the attraction. His panther scratches at him, urge to establish what is his growing with each second the damned man looks at his N’Jadaka. He holds himself evenly, only squeezing the vibranium armrest tighter. 

“Enough.” W’Kalu looks pleased in the reactions of the room, head held high. 

“You can do whatever you want to me, King, I promise you there is more who believe you’ve wronged Wakanda by opening it up to the rest of the world? How long do you think you’ll hold that nice seat when a country stands against you?” N’Jadaka walks to the corner of a room, hidden from sight, but it goes unnoticed by T’Challa, who takes in the question. He returns, clothed and human. 

“Nah, I don’t agree with you. Your little fuckshit ain’t holding up with me, thinking there isn’t people in the world who do not need what Wakanda has plenty of,” N’Jadaka returns to his lover’s left, tall and unaffected, “difference between me and you is I was going to take over the world using Wakanda and you refuse to help the world by taking down Wakanda.” 

“And yet, you was going to kill T’Challa to succeed it. We are not so different, are we?” The former war dog winks. Anger boils. 

“Wakanda needs to stay in its nice little shell. The world should never have been exposed to the vibranium, the thriving of our nation. They feed off of raising themselves up by bringing others down. You opened the world to what we have and they will take it all and leave us with nothing. That is what they do. You all have seen it, I know you have.

“How many more wars will it take for you to see that Wakanda cannot afford your foolish decisions? Wakanda forever, not Earth forever. Nehlazo kuwe, Kumkani (shame to you, King).” T’Challa eyes glow gold and his skin itches to release his panther. He breathes heavier, fighting off his inner panther. N’Jadaka waves his hand, feeling the vexation of the king. Okoye slams her spear to the ground and the Dora enter and take W’Kalu out. 

“I plan to see you soon.” W’Kalu says on his exit.

“Don’t count on it,” N’Jadaka replies and the door closes.”Go ahead and make sure no one suddenly saves his ass, please.” Okoye nods and exits the throne room as well. N’Jadaka slowly drops his knees between T’Challa’s and grabs at his hand, placing it on his face. 

“They are wrong, T, you know that.” T’Challa looks at him, a thankful expression on his face. N’Jadaka could always read him, always has been able to.

“Opening Wakanda was the right thing to do, but some believe the old ways are better. I cannot stop a thought, I can only show them the good that this does. They will kill me if it means they go back to staying in the dome of protection.” Erik growls in his hand. 

“I’ll rip them apart,” and T’Challa knows N’Jadaka would. He runs his hands through his man’s dreads, scratching at the scalp. This is his centre, right here with N’Jadaka. 

“I am sorry that I nearly snapped. I did not enjoy the way he was looking at you, then he inflicted shame upon me.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone who I wanted to kill had an attraction for me.” Erik smirks, even when the King harshly brings their faces close. T’Challa growls, feral and agitated. 

“That is not funny.” Their foreheads touch, sharing a breath.

“You know I’m playing,” N’Jadaka kisses him briefly, apologetically, “you are doing what is right, despite what they think.” 

“W’Kalu is eventually going to find the opening to kill me. Others too, if he has associates.” 

“I would love to see the fucker try.” T’Challa laughs at that and brings their lips together for a longer kiss. Their kisses are not a battle, it is mutual, always mutual, like fire and ice finding a middle. It is okay for now; T’Challa will undoubtedly worry about it later (and begin a backup search for W’Kalu associates), but now he has no worries. N’Jadaka pulls away, smiling syly, and walks away towards the door. 

“Have time to spar later?” He asks at the door, eyes bright and teasing. 

“Perhaps. Why do you ask?” 

“Winner gets a back massage.” And Erik is gone, more than likely going to see Shuri, and T’Challa rolls his eyes. 

There has never been a winner. Never have and probably never will.


End file.
